


Strange Fascinations, Fascinating Me

by fuladaris



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Developing Relationship, First ''I love you'', First Kiss, M/M, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Canon, So here we are, and thinking of the word 'changes' popped that song in my head, this isn't a songfic i just needed a title, title from a david bowie song, which is appropriately called ''Changes''
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29490942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuladaris/pseuds/fuladaris
Summary: The beautiful things in Lysandre's life always seemed to be changing - but this relationship here, this pounding, burning feeling the professor instilled in him, well: That was one beautiful thing which only served to grow ever more beautiful with time.(Or, the first time Augustine said "I love you," and the first time Lysandre said it back.)
Relationships: Fleur-de-lis | Lysandre/Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore
Kudos: 18





	Strange Fascinations, Fascinating Me

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this to my tumblr a while ago, in response to an anon asking "At what point did Lysandre and Sycamore realize they loved each other?" The original post has been updated with a link to this AO3 posting!
> 
> As is the case with a lot of the things I will slowly be re-posting on here, this fic was written as a development exercise for the ways in which I write and characterize Lysandre, Sycamore, and their relationship. I hope you enjoy!

_ When had it changed? _

The thought hits Lysandre like a brick, one morning, when Sycamore is walking alongside him, and their arms are brushing against each other, hands seeking to find and fingers to intertwine without either man looking down. Eventually, as their walk continues, Sycamore switches to holding onto his arm, and Lysandre allows it, pulling the professor in close and reveling in the feel of him pressed to his side.

There had been times, in the past, when Sycamore had flirted with him, had made comments about how often Lysandre would glance at him, even if the look had lasted only for a moment. 

Indeed, sometime after Lysandre had stopped being Sycamore’s lab assistant and started his own tech company - but had continued being the professor’s close friend and confidant, of course, _always_ would he be that - they’d even almost _kissed_ , once. Augustine had challenged him, said that a man should take what he wanted, flat out _told_ Lysandre he could _kiss him_ \- but they hadn’t gone through with it, no matter how intoxicating Lysandre had found the professor to be even back then, for Sina had burst in right at that moment.

And yet - yes, _that_ was when it had changed. 

That acknowledgement of their feelings, never mind the fact that they hadn’t expressed them physically in that moment - ever since then, they’d been more open with each other, bolder in their glances, not looking away if the other caught them staring, but still never kissing. They’d sit close together, occasionally, letting their legs touch, Lysandre sometimes squeezing Sycamore’s knee and listening to the gasp of anticipation that such a touch elicited from the other man, even if Lysandre never did more than that. But, more often than not, the most they did was stand _tantalizingly_ close, _without_ touching, as if afraid to break the spell of longing and desire they’d cast over each other. 

Here, now, walking arm-in-arm down South Boulevard, was the most openly affectionate they’d _been_ , and it was in _public_ , too. 

However, it’s when Augustine murmurs “I want you to kiss me” that the spell finally lifts _completely_ , and Lysandre, in a swift, fluid movement, tugs him into one of the alleyways.  


“What did you say?”  


“I said I want - no, I _need_ you to kiss me. Please.”

Slowly, Lysandre bends down, his lips hovering over Sycamore’s without touching them, as if he might back down, and for a brief moment, he wonders if Sycamore might close the gap himself.

But Sycamore does not, just lets out a plea of a whine, and so Lysandre rewards him with that coveted kiss, and from there, he can feel things change again.

***

They go on dates, of course, and talk about what they are - dating, yes, exclusive, _naturally_ \- but the words “I love you” have never left their lips. Until one night, several months later, when they’re watching some old movie, and it’s around one in the morning. Lysandre is dozing off, when he hears Sycamore begin murmuring quietly at his side, and he forces himself to wake and listen.

“…Hey. I’ve…been thinking. About us,” Augustine is saying, and his tone is hesitant. “And…I think I…No. I know it.” 

Here Augustine draws a deep breath. He sits up and caresses Lysandre’s face, and when he speaks again, his tone is confident. 

“Lysandre, I love you.”  


Lysandre springs fully awake at that, could say a million things, right now, for the weight of those words presses on his chest and rings in his ears. He’s never really loved anyone before, not in the way Augustine means it, and _never_ has he trusted someone enough to fall asleep at their side, the way he was doing mere moments ago.

That must - mean something, right?

_Speak, Lysandre_ , he commands himself - but all he does is tug Augustine close to him and kiss him on the lips: A wordless acceptance of the professor’s feelings, even if Lysandre himself cannot voice his own, yet.

*** 

“I wish you’d say it back, just once.”  


Sycamore had given his “I love you’s” freely since then, and Lysandre always responded to them with a kiss. It was their way, he felt, and he was happy with this, happy that things had stopped changing. They were a couple, and Augustine loved him, and he was _happy_ ; happy with his _success_ , too, for Lysandre Labs and the newly-founded Team Flare were both doing so _well_.  


Indeed, it isn’t until the professor says that - “I wish you’d say it back, just once.” - that Lysandre begins to wonder if they are not _both_ happy. 

They’re on the phone, at the moment, for Augustine is away on a conference in Sinnoh, one Professor Rowan had invited him to speak at. Lysandre had mindlessly blown a kiss when Augustine had intended to end the call with an “I love you,” had gone to hang up himself, in fact. But then the professor had said that dreaded phrase, and once again, things were changing.

“You - want me to say it back?” Lysandre asks, unused to the faltering tone in his voice.  


Sycamore is unused to that, too, picks up on it. “No, never mind. If you don’t mean it, then-”  


“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” he snaps, cheeks flaring with a defensive heat that Augustine cannot see. “Do you think I do not care about you?”  


“Of course you care. I’m just saying - if you _can’t_ say it yet, it’s - it’s fine. I shouldn’t have spoken. It’s a big thing, to say it for the first time. My heart was hammering a mile a minute when _I_ first said it to you, and I - I mean - Look, forget it. I’m sorry I said anything. I just - have not been sleeping, is all, and-”

“I love you,” Lysandre blurts out. The words felt foreign, and strange, on Lysandre’s tongue. Not that they felt _wrong_ , exactly, just _unfamiliar_ , and he realizes he sounded harsh, like he was simply trying to cut his partner off. 

He tries again, tries to speak more fondly: “I love you, Augustine Sycamore.”

“...You mean it? You weren’t - you don’t feel - forced, do you?”  


Lysandre hesitates, knows the pause was only a couple of seconds when it felt like an hour, and then: “I do.”

Sycamore sobs, and Lysandre realizes how it came out, tries to clarify. “No, no! I meant I _do_ mean it. _Not_ that I felt forced into saying it.” He felt _strange_ , granted, as if he were speaking another language, but he _had_ said those words of his own volition. “Forgive me. That misunderstanding was my fault. I was - thinking of the first question only.”  


A soft crying sound can still be heard on the other end of the line, and Lysandre’s heart breaks. “Augustine, _mon cher_ , please stop-”

“Y-You mean it? You mean it?”  


“Yes. Yes, I do. I’m- _Why_ are you still crying? Oh, stop, I hate it when you cry-”  


“I’m _miserable_. I’m-”  


Lysandre nearly drops the phone. “You ask me to tell you I love you, and I do, and I assure you that I meant it, because I did - and now you’re _**miserable**_ -?!”

“No! Not with _that_! With - With the conference! Nothing is going right here, and I’m terribly lonely, and I miss you, and - and I never should have said anything, because now you finally said you loved me, and we weren’t even face to face, and I didn’t think not seeing you while you said it would hurt so **_much_**. Lysandre, I **_need_ **you-”  


Lysandre’s temper cools as the professor vents, and he murmurs a soft, “Shh, shh,” into the phone, and wishes he was there to hold him. “One thing at a time...Why isn’t it going right, hmm? You said just tonight that things were going well...”

“I-I didn’t want to trouble you, but I guess I’m doing that now, anyway-”  


“You are never any trouble, _mon cher_ , never. Please, tell me what’s going on.” This is more familiar - consoling his anxious, frantic professor.  


“I-I, well, I- I just wish you were here. Really, if you _were_ here, I’d feel better. It’s so silly, I know- But the talk I have to give tomorrow, well - I rehearsed it for Professor Rowan and some of my relatives, and it went drastically south because I can’t Mega-Evolve Pokemon myself, and then - Oh, Arceus help me, my _aunt_ stood up and started up about how ‘You always were a quitter, Gus, weren’t you-’”

“Your Aunt Hazel, yes? The one who lives in Jubilife City?”  


“Yes, yes, her! Ohhh, Lysandre, I’ve never been so mortified, I-”  


“Shh...Shh, now. I am sure Professor Rowan stood up for you?” he asks, the cool tone of Lysandre’s voice hiding the fact that, had _he_ been there, he would have skipped the words and gone directly to wringing Aunt Hazel’s neck.  


“He did.”

“And I am sure the rest of your family liked it, yes? And will call your parents and sing your praises?”  


“A-Ah, yes, I suppose, except perhaps for Aunt Hazel, but the questions about whether or not I can Mega-Evolve Pokemon myself-”

“You will in time. These things are still being researched. No progress is made without some hardship, Professor.”  


There’s a long silence at the other end of the line, but eventually, Sycamore speaks: “...Of course. Yes. I - Thank you.”

Lysandre smiles, prays his partner can hear it in his voice, that he will be reassured. “You worry too much, Augustine. Your genius will soon be recognized worldwide. Now, tell me what I can do to help you sleep...You mentioned that, too, didn’t you, that you aren’t sleeping well?”

“I’m not. If I could just- If it is okay- Would you...tell me you love me, again?”  


“I love you.”  


“Again...”  


“I love you.” Lysandre finds his voice growing softer with each repetition, finds himself growing used to the idea of saying this, and as he hears Augustine’s breathing growing more even, as they both whisper quiet “Good nights” and hang up the phone, he finds himself thinking back on the _other_ thing Augustine had said: “I didn’t think not seeing you while you said it would hurt so **_much_**. Lysandre, I **_need_ **you-”

_Things have changed again_ , he thinks, and he buys a plane ticket for the next morning. 

It wouldn’t be his first last-minute red-eye, and he has to leave almost as soon as the payment is processed, but - _Nothing worth having comes without sacrifice._

***

When Lysandre drags himself into the conference hall, he sees the way in which Augustine’s face lights up - _And oh, quelle beauté_! Suddenly, the fact that he’s jetlagged and running on caffeine means _nothing_ , because that joyous, _beautiful_ expression on his partner’s face is so very _restorative_ , and Lysandre feels his exhaustion wash away _instantly_.

“What are you doing here?” Augustine asks, crossing the room in _seconds_ , reaching out for a hug, the laugh in his voice as heavenly as a blessing. “You said you had meetings with work this week! Ahh, were you going to surprise me all along?”  


“I hate to disappoint, but this was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” Lysandre replies, pulling Augustine into the requested embrace. “I _did_ have to cancel a lot of meetings, though.”

“Oh, sweetheart...You didn’t have to do that. You said they were _important_ -”  


“Yes, and _you_ said you needed me here, and that, _mon cher_ , is _more_ important.”

Lysandre feels Sycamore’s shoulders begin to shake, and instinctively tightens his grip. “Now, now. Do not come undone right before you are to speak...You do remember saying that to me, don’t you? So why would I not come?”

“I-I’ll make it up to you,” Sycamore whispers, and must have realized how silly that sounded, because he bites his bottom lip, the way he always does when he’s embarrassed, and Lysandre can’t help but to smile.  


“You can make it up to me by showing your dear Aunt Hazel what a witch she is.”

“Oh, I will, do not worry. In fact, I will be giving _you_ the seat that was reserved for her.” He kisses Lysandre on the cheek, smiles when Lysandre turns his head to catch his lips instead. “Thank you for coming, Lys. I- Goodness, it’s awfully romantic, isn’t it? What a man...”  


“ ** _What a man?_ **Is _that_ what you just said?” Oh, how Lysandre _laughs_ at that. “Yes, yes, would we were _all_ as lucky as you, to have a partner such as _me_...But - I am lucky, too. _Far_ luckier, in fact, for _I_ have _you_.”

They’re smiling at each other, expressions warm, and Lysandre, as naturally as breathing, cups the professor’s face in his hands, kisses his forehead, and murmurs, “I love you, Augustine.”

Oh, how strange it felt, to say that out loud _unbidden_ , to say it to his _face_ like that - but it also felt wonderful, wonderful and freeing, to initiate it, to _really, truly say it for the first time_! And Augustine’s soft, reverent “I love you, too” - oh, yes, Lysandre, you made the right choice. 

The beautiful things in his life always seemed to be changing - but this relationship here, this pounding, burning feeling the professor instilled in him, well: _This_ was one beautiful thing that only served to grow ever _more_ beautiful with time.

Now, if only the rest of the world would follow suit.


End file.
